


blue neighbourhood

by goodcliche



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Based on the Blue Neighbourhood Trilogy (Troye Sivan), Child Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodcliche/pseuds/goodcliche
Summary: you might wanna get some tissues for this one





	1. wild

****Soft kisses, much like the first ones they ever shared, were traded; intimate, slow, and full of hopes and promises. Legs intertwined, arms propped up to prevent falling down and crushing the smaller boy who, in his turn, had his hands in the taller's hair. The scene was soft; it was pure and most of all, it was innocent.

When the blonde got too tired of holding himself up, they held one another, cuddling. They whispered softly, exchanging small pecks for the trailing of a hand over their arms, for fingers rubbing circles in their necks and playing with little strands of hair. They shifted, a head on a chest, a lap, atop of the other's head. Kisses were pressed against any bare piece of skin, on the tip of a nose, amidst a mop of blonde or brown hair, on cheeks and shoulders, on lips on foreheads. Fingers got loosely intertwined, arms dangling in the air, pointing to nothing, drawing unnameable shapes.

They talked, barely audible to even themselves but somehow they were still able to make out coherent sentences out of it. Soft murmurs rolling of their lips, words getting lost in hair, against the fabric of a tee and a hoodie. They sung together in peace, created harmonies as they went along, somehow always filling their own little bubble with magical sounds, their voices a perfect blend, always complementing the other. Conversations and singing flowed into long periods of comfortable silence. They didn't need much, they just needed each other.

The image mirrored the one of when they were smaller in almost every aspect.

The ones were they had been smaller were almost exactly the same, except they didn't share kisses like they did now. But since they were young, they shared moments like this. They could spend days on end in either Scott's or Mitch's room, cuddled up on their respective beds with nothing but one another there. Granted, they never actually spend days on end in their rooms. After a couple hours they were always told to get out of there, or they went out voluntarily to eat something or run outside.

At times, when the weather was good and they had enough time to sneak away for multiple hours, they took trips to the beach. And after Scott had gotten his drivers license, almost two years ago now, they made sure to go at least once every three weeks. It had stopped to matter if the weather was good, because the beach, the cliffs overseeing the ocean, the sand between their toes while walking along the shore, that was their own little happy place away from everyone and everything. It didn't matter if they were absolutely soaked through after an hour there, because in cases like that Scott would always towel Mitch off and wrap him in one of his fluffiest blankets before even thinking of taking care of himself. Mitch would always make grabby hands towards the older boy, pleading for him to come and cuddle already so that Mitch could warm up some more. And in moments like that, it didn't matter that they were crammed together in the back of Scott's car, because they were wrapped up in fluffy blankets and they were cuddling and they were Scott and Mitch and as long as they had each other, it really didn't matter where they were.

All they had ever needed was the other. During the weekdays, they couldn't constantly see one another, which lead to them craving the weekends. It got especially bad when Scott started high school. By then, Mitch started his last year of middle school and the fact they didn't go to the same building daily- or even buildings close to each other-, made them miss each other more. They also relied on each other a lot, and so not having the one person that calmed them down be there, was a lot. It wasn't something people took pity on. No, most of them made fun of the boys' huge codependency; they made fun of the fact that, if Mitch and Scott hadn't seen each other the day before, if they simply didn't have time to even talk the day before, they both would get snappy and more anxious. They got made fun of the fact that they always felt the insane need to be in close proximity with the other. Which, of course, only fed their anxiety.

It also didn't help that they were two _boys,_ really. Because boys showing affection wasn't something all too common. Especially not in the conservative town the two lived. Girls cuddling? Sure, cuddling and planting kisses on another girls' cheek was fine, but as soon as it were two boys sharing that same affection girls did, it was frowned upon. Boys weren't supposed to share affection between them. Not this much, at least.

It never stopped them, though.

It went thus far, even, that when Mitch was ten and had fallen off a bench in the park during a school trip and broken his wrist, that when they asked him who they had to call, he had given them Scott's number, who had just gotten his first cellphone. Let's just say neither his teachers nor his parents had been happy to find out Scott had been the Mitch's priority. The boys themselves thought it was great, and that it just showed how much they cared for one another.

"Mitchy?"

Scott ran his fingers through the brunette's hair. He was lying with his head Scott's bare chest, dozing off ever so slightly. His arms were around Scott's torso, and their bare legs tangled around one another. The blonde chuckled a bit as the smaller boy squeezed his arms around him a bit tighter and mumbled something against his skin. He pressed a kiss atop of his head, buried within strands of dark brown hair.

"C'mon, Mitchy, we should get up."

A disagreeing grunt came from the tenor's mouth, but he let go of Scott nonetheless. White sheets pooled around his hips when he sat up and stretched, sitting on his knees.

Mitch didn't want to get up yet, simply because getting up meant having to go home because Scott's dad was going to be home soon. He knew it was hard for Scott to get the small sentence out, too, but that didn't stop him from not _wanting_ to leave. He _wanted_ to stay. Not getting up and staying the night wasn't something he looked forward to, but it _was_ the most rational decision. The sight of Scott looking at him as if he was the most beautiful creature to have ever walked on earth, though, was kinda worth it. The blonde's eyes were focused on Mitch, his eyes trailing every little bit of Mitch there was to see, flickering between his eyes, lips, and the white sheets pooled around his hips. And god, the image of Scott subconsciously biting on his lip while reaching out and tracing a little bit of skin on Mitch hip, almost made him give in to the blonde's obvious desire and leap down to kiss him again.

But as Scott had said, he had to get up. They couldn't risk Rick walking in on them in a drunken state. Heck, they couldn't even risk Rick walking in on them sober (which he never was anymore) when they were fully clothed and making their homework, not even touching one another. But they _definitely_ couldn't risk Rick walking in on them while _he_ was _drunk_ and _they_ were _naked_.

He couldn't even know Mitch had been here.

It was weird, really, although in a sense it also wasn't. As kids, their parents had gotten along just fine, had been good friends, even. Which was the reason Scott and Mitch had become friends so young in the first place. They had been quite cuddly back then, too, but everyone always said it was just because they were kids, they didn't know any better. It didn't keep them from doing it, and while no one seemed to really approve of their codependency and affection, their parents didn't voice their disapproval either. Not within earshot.

Saying everything had gone to shit when Rick and Connie had filed a divorce would be putting it lightly. Since the divorce, Connie had left, taking Lindsey and Lauren with her. She had wanted to take Scott too, but thirteen year old Scott, thirteen year old Scott who was going to start high school his next year, didn't want to leave his best friend alone. And aside from that, his dad hadn't been alcoholic back then. He only started drinking when they really left. Not that it would have mattered to the blonde boy, because even at just thirteen years old, he _knew_ Mitch was the only thing that mattered to him. Mitch was his world, and without him, Scott couldn't even function. So for Scott, joining his mother and sisters hadn't even been on his thoughts once as something he could actually do.

It would have been like trying to breathe without oxygen, no matter how cliche that sounded.

But then Rick had started drinking. He had started, and never really stopped. He had become more and more aggressive, snapping at the smallest things. Still, when his mother contacted Scott, he refused to go.

Eventually she stopped asking.

And Scott didn't ask her anything anymore, either. No, Scott put up with his alcoholic dad, finding shelter in spending time with Mitch as much as he could. He avoided contact with his dad, but never stopped caring for him. Even when he started outing his rage towards the then fifteen year old Scott.

It had taken Mitch several months to get Scott to open up about the random bruises appearing on his skin ever so often.

Because Scott, ever so loving and caring Scott, had never wanted to burden the small brunette boy. No, because Mitch had enough troubles of his own. Mitch's parents might not have been abusive, they might not have been alcoholic, but that didn't mean they were the best parents one could have. Sure, they cared for their son, but Mitch, being more feminine than the average boy, having a fragile self esteem already, took any criticism, any shouting and any form of disapproval, to the heart. And those forms of judgement, occurred way too often. He buried it there and the only person he trusted enough to tell how much of a fuck up he felt like he was, was the one boy he didn't want to bother any more. But he did it nonetheless, because Scott was always there. He wasn't too persistent about knowing everything, he didn't _demand_ to know what was going on. He just was there, and whenever Mitch had felt the need to talk, he did.

They both had enough troubles for themselves, but in the end, sharing them had always been beneficial. Because together, the combined weight of their troubles suddenly wasn't so heavy.

The two boys were silent, Scott's thumb still absentmindedly rubbing small circles on Mitch's bare hip. Neither of them wanted Mitch to leave already, but Rick usually came home around ten pm, which was only about half an hour from now. Chances were that the man would be home much later than that, but neither really wanted to take the risk. There had been too many close calls in the past, and it always spiked their anxiety enormously.

It wasn't that Rick had something against Mitch, although he had started taking a disliking to the boy throughout the years, it was that Rick wasn't all too much of a fan of homosexuality. So with his son being gay and all, it probably wouldn't be the best idea to get caught making out, much rather naked in a bed with his best friend. No, that wasn't the best of ideas.

He also wasn't the biggest fan of Scott in general. Said he reminded him of Scott's mother.

Scott sighed, resting his hand on Mitch's hip now, putting a little pressure behind it. His other hand connected with Mitch's back, making the boy shiver.

"I don't want you to go yet..." the blonde whispered, focusing his eyes on Mitch's brown ones.

"I know," Mitch broke the eye contact, "but I don't want to get you in trouble, Scotty. I wish I could stay longer, too." He flickered up to meet bright blue eyes again, and he found himself wanting to give in despite knowing he shouldn't. But Scott should know better too.

"Please?"

And really, who could argue with those blue puppy eyes, matched with a messy mop of blonde hair? Mitch tried, but he always gave in in the end, not being able to resist Scott. It wasn't like his parents wanted him to come home yet, anyway.

"But your dad..." Mitch tried, even though he was already wrapping his arms around Scott and laying his head on the blonde's chest. One of his hands was drawing circles on Scott's shoulder, fingers delicately sliding over smooth skin.

"likely won't be home until later tonight or even the morning," Scott told him, running his fingers through the boy's hair. "Besides, it's been way too long since you've stayed the night. We can get up early and go to the beach tomorrow before my dad wakes and finds out, okay, baby? It'll be okay."

Mitch nodded, eyes fluttering shut again within seconds.

-

He knew it was a bad idea as soon as he woke up. He woke up cold, the sheets left on him and the bed in what seemed to be hasty movements. Scott wasn't lying besides him, and the brunette shivered at the lack of body heat.

When he heard shouting coming from downstairs though, he knew it wasn't just a bad idea, no, something was wrong. The shouts, screams and cries continued, and Mitch tried blocking the sounds out. He covered his ears with his hands, already feeling guilt seep through him. Most likely it was his fault. He stayed over, knowing full and well that having given in last night wasn't the smartest move ever. But he didn't know what to do now; going downstairs to Scott wouldn't help the situation. It would only fuel Rick's rage towards the blond, never mind that he would take out some of it on the small boy, too. Scott would hate him if he tried standing up to his father for him, he didn't want Mitch getting hurt trying to protect _him._

But Mitch couldn't really lie in bed naked, waiting for something to happen, either. So he got up, reluctant and wincing at every sound he heard from downstairs, until it became almost deadly silent. Tears prickled at his eyes, and every muscle in him screamed to run downstairs, to check on his boyfriend, to drag the tall blonde towards safety and to run away with him to keep him safe from all danger he was exposed to. But he shouldn't. He _couldn't._ And so he just got up, putting on his boxer briefs after searching for them through Scott's room. There were clothes strewn across the whole floor, but it wasn't too hard to pick out what was his and what was Scott's. Not that that kept him from putting on Scott's sweater.

Hesitantly, he scooped up the rest of the clothes, planning on putting them down on the bed in two piles and put on his jeans. He never got to, because where it had been eerily silent, the silence was now broken. Harshly. There were shouts again, and Mitch couldn't help but conjure up images of Scott being hit by his father downstairs. Soon enough though, there was someone running up the stairs, and when the bedroom door got pushed open with a loud bang, Mitch winced, staring at it like a deer caught in headlights.

When he noticed it was his boyfriend, distressed and with tears running down his face, he immediately went to wrap his arms around the blonde. Scott pushed him away seconds after, though, mumbling to himself. Mitch just stood, stunned and slightly hurt by being pushed away. He didn't even have time to process what was happening, didn't notice Scott shoving their clothes and some extra sweaters into his backpack before intertwining his fingers with Mitch.

"Please," he brought out, voice breaking; more tears streaming down his face.

It was then that Mitch understood what he was getting at, he thought. And so he did the only thing that came to his mind, he cupped Scott's face with his hands, digging in his fingers to force the blonde to look at him. At first he tried to avoid eye contact, but Mitch rubbed over his cheeks soothingly, wiping away the tears that kept flowing. He pressed small kisses on Scott's cheeks, on the tip of his nose, and- with a little effort because well, Scott was quite a bit taller than he was- on his forehead.

There were still tears running down Scott's face, and he radiated anger, rage even, with every ounce of his body, but he was calmer. He was able to at least think a little. His thoughts were clouded, overshadowed with the anger he was feeling right now, but the blonde tried his best to match his breathing with the brunette's. Calmer now, he hoisted his backpack on his back and grabbed Mitch's wrist.

The tenor knew better than to ask, knew exactly what Scott had in mind. When the two stormed through the living room, Mitch had the huge urge to kick Rick Hoying and beat him until _he_ was bruised all over like Scott was so often. He didn't, Scott's grip on his wrist preventing him from doing so.

It wasn't the first time they had ran or stormed out and driven to the beach, and Mitch knew that it probably wouldn't be the last. It was new, however, that Rick was standing in their way, just barely not blocking it. And if anger had been radiating from Scott already, Mitch didn't know what words to use to describe the rage radiating from the older man. It was really for the better that Scott was gripping onto his wrist for dear life, because even though Mitch was small and wouldn't normally physically fight someone, right now he definitely felt like doing so.

Besides that, though, he was scared out of his mind. It didn't seem fair to him, how he was scared right now, but he couldn't help himself. He wished he could, because it shouldn't be Scott- who had just gotten beaten by his dad- standing in front of him, protecting him from Rick. It should be the other way around, but for some reason it wasn't, and that frustrated the brunette.

When Rick opened his mouth, glaring at the couple in front of him, Mitch's blood ran cold. He could deal with anger, could deal with shouting and maybe even a physical blow or two despite his small physique, but he could not for the god of life deal with calm anger. The ones where rage was radiating from every pore, but the voice coming from that same person was calm and collected. The calculated, well thought out anger, focused on hurting and bringing across the one point being made. It was like icy blades hit him, and he wasn't even sure if he really _heard_ the words.

"If I catch you _one_ more time, I'll kill the both of you."

Time seemed to freeze as the three glared at one another. The two boys were clearly scared, but Scott somehow still remained the rational and calm one, and he wasn't as overcome with pure fear as Mitch- for which Mitch hated himself. Because well, Scott had all the reasons to be scared, heck, to be terrified and lying on the ground bawling, because of his father's actions. Yet Mitch seemed closer to breaking than the blonde.

The two Hoyings stared at each other, all while the younger gripped onto his boyfriend's wrist. There was a silence, and for the couple seconds it lasted, the brunette was scared out of his mind that Rick was actually going to hurt them and he wouldn't be able to protect Scott because if _Scott_ couldn't protect Scott, the way smaller boy certainly couldn't.

"Go. Out of my house. Now."

They pretty much ran outside, for as far as their trembling legs could actually carry them. Before they hurried into Scott's car, though, Rick couldn't help it but say one last thing to the two boys.

"Once you get back here, Scott, you better have gotten rid of _him_."

All in that same ice-like tone that made Mitch's blood freeze and the hairs on his arms stand up straight and his heart pound hard in his chest and his breathing ragged and sight blurry.

They didn't talk about it on the way to the beach. They didn't talk about it at the beach. They didn't plan on talking about it at all.

At the beach, they were quick to dump the backpack with clothes and a bit of food they picked up on their way on a huge blanket. It wasn't too cold, thankfully, but to say it was warm was an overstatement. Despite the fact that there were quite a lot people walking on the small beach, and no one was in the water, the two quickly changed out of their clothes. Just in their boxes, teeth clattering and hands intertwined, they walked to the water. It was cold, yes, but they got used to the temperature pretty easily, clinging on to one another and joking around.

No, the actions of this morning weren't forgotten about, a couple fresh bruises clearly visible on Scott's skin; winces when Mitch unconsciously rubbed over them breaking their silence, but for now, this morning's events- Rick- didn't matter.

For now, it was just the two of them.

The water was cold as they swum further, warming up as they stayed in one place longer. One of the great things about being in the water was that Mitch could easily wrap his legs around Scott's waist without becoming to heavy for the blonde to carry. Another was that it felt secluded, just the fact that they were on a public bitch. They were unaware of the stares they were getting, the whispers and the people looking at them as if they were completely insane to be swimming in the sea with these temperatures when they were all wearing jackets and long jeans.

Mitch intertwined his fingers behind Scott's neck, pressing into the skin softly before he smiled softly, looking down at the boy he was so in love with; who could make him temporarily forget about everything and anything; who was currently rubbing small circles on the side of Mitch's thighs, holding him steady while walking around on the sand. The water was almost still, small waves and their own movements the only thing rippling the surface. And despite the fact that the upper part of his torso as well as his arms were above the water, sprinkled with little droplets, he was barely shivering.

They kissed in the water, creating a dance all their own. Mitch tangled his hands in Scott's hair, wanting to be closer, closer, closer than he was now. As a response to Mitch pressing himself closer, Scott moved his arms to Mitch's back, cupping water and running it over the skin just underneath his shoulder blades, causing the smaller boy to shiver slightly. The kiss deepened, teeth nipping at lips, tongues soothing the small bites in an instant.

They were in the water until they started shivering and their stomachs began complaining about not yet having eaten anything all day. They still had a lot of the day left, but when getting out of the water, they hurried back to their blanket as if time was going to sneak up on them. Like always, Scott wrapped Mitch up in a towel, making sure he was dry and fully clothed in a pair of sweatpants and one of Scott's own hoodies before getting dressed himself. No matter how much Mitch told him that he could damn well get dressed himself and wrap himself in a blanket, the older boy never had any of it, always making sure the smaller got warm first.

They spent the day on the beach, simply cuddling and talking like they always would, sharing food and drinks and kisses. They walked along the water together, playfully trying to push the other in but never with the intention to actually do so. They didn't talk about the forming bruises on Scott's skin, even though Mitch had to bite down on his lip hard to prevent himself from asking what was going to happen now. They didn't want to talk about consequences, didn't ever plan on changing anything, and Scott didn't want to let Mitch know how hard he had to bite back in pain when the tenor's hands accidentally brushed over a new bruise.

Right now, they shared another kiss. The beach was mostly empty, and even though they didn't really have much privacy, they didn't care. The kiss had gone from a sweet and soft one to a deeper, more passionate one a little while ago, little whines and whimpers escaping both their lips.

Mitch was sitting in Scott's lap, one hand tangled in blonde locks, the other roaming Scott's back. In return, both of Scott's hands were on his hips, slowly pushing underneath sweatpants, running over bared skin. They had a blanket around them, hoodies thrown to the side, bare skin meeting more bare skin as their torsos got pressed together out of the simple need of being close to one another. They knew fully that they couldn't go much further than this, that it wouldn't be the best of ideas to make love on a public beach, but that didn't stop them from wanting it.

Pushing Scott a little, Mitch hovered above the- now lying down- boy. It didn't last long, Scott turning them around within a matter of seconds.

"God, I love you so much, baby," he muttered, pressing a chaste kiss against Mitch's lips. His eyes were slightly hooded, sparkling blue with a slightly darker undertone. "So gorgeous." A kiss was pressed to the side of Mitch's mouth.

"Always so gorgeous." A kiss to his jaw, earning Scott a small gasp. "So pretty, baby, will never get tired of looking at you." Underneath his jaw; being sucked on a little, followed with a small bite. And Scott continued to make a trail down Mitch's neck, moving to his shoulder and his collarbone, marking the younger boy with hickeys after praising him every time.

It drove Mitch absolutely wild. He was sure there were scratches on Scott's back from his nails, he was arching his back every time Scott sucked or bit just a little harder on a particular sensitive piece of skin, moans and whines falling from his lips. If they had been anywhere more private, Mitch would probably be even worse, Scott would go further than he was now, and the two would find comfort and relief in one another. If they had been somewhere more private, Scott's lips would have continued trailing down on Mitch, whereas now, they trailed up again, placing sweet kisses against already bruising up marks.

There was a slight grin on the baritone's face as he watched his boyfriend. The smaller boy looked desperate for contact, his hair sticking against his head with a couple beads of sweat. His lips were slightly swollen from the absurd amount of kissing they had had to endure the past few hours, but he wasn't complaining at all.

And all Scott did was admire him, wonder how he got so lucky that Mitch Grassi fell in love with him as hard as he fell in love with him. All he did was wonder what he had ever done to deserve this angel in person in his life.

He licked his lips, ran his hands up Mitch's sides, making him shiver slightly and blink up at him, before leaning down and pressing his lips against the brunette's again. In that moment none of the shit in their lives mattered, because all that mattered was that they were together and that they were Scott and Mitch.

Breathless, with eyes closed, they paused their kiss for a couple seconds, reconnecting in a slow kiss; chasing lips until they literally pulled apart, before repeating the process.

"I love you."

A small smile on Scott's face, even though no one would see it with their eyes being closed and all.

"I love you too, Mitchy."

Lips finding each other again. And they definitely drove the other wild, brains barely being able to focus on anything else apart from their lips connecting and hands running over skin, tracing patters and making hairs stand up within seconds.

Right now, all they needed was one another, wrapped up in a fuzzy blankets on the beach, eyes on the priceless prices that were Mitch and Scott respectively. A whisper, confirming all that, followed. And even though Mitch knew, hearing Scott say those words and reassure him like that, made him go soft, rubbing at a little piece of skin with his thump. In that small bubble on the beach, they were perfectly at home. Because for them, home wasn't a place as much as a person.

A nod, noses rubbing together, lips still locking onto lips. "Always gonna be you and me, you're all I need, baby."

 


	2. fools

****"Always gonna be you and me."

The words echoed in Mitch's head. It had barely been three days since he and Scott had gone to the beach together. Three days since that magical day with blue undertones, where they had avoided talking about what had happened that day; where they had avoided talking about what was going to happen to them until the last moment.

Three days since they had broken up.

Three days since Mitch's heart had shattered.

Three days of crying and trying to get through the school day knowing that otherwise he would sneak out of classes to meet up with Scott and be that cliche needy couple kissing in the bathroom or a cupboard. Three days of avoiding the blonde of suddenly sitting alone in the corner at lunch, of covering his body with a huge hoodie that was- conveniently- _Scott's._

Three days of crying himself to sleep at night, a fourth well on it's way.

Pathetic. That's what it was. Or at least, to Mitch. Because you didn't cry over heartbreak, right? You most definitely weren't supposed to cry over the mutual decision to break up. No, because it was a mutual decision. Something you had both decided on. Not something harsh dumped on you out of nowhere.

But there also hadn't been an "I don't love you anymore". In fact, there had been "I love you"'s. Load of them.

And maybe that's why Mitch was so heartbroken over this. Because it _wasn't_ that they didn't love each other anymore. It _wasn't_ that they wanted to break up. It _wasn't_ that they felt it would be better for them to break up. No. It was that they were _scared_. Scared out of their minds and unable to think of a happy solution.

Mitch scoffed, wiping away a couple of his tears. _"Always gonna be you and me."_ Yeah, sure. Always gonna be just the two of them, until they left the beach. Until they were outside Mitch's house and hesitantly started talking about what would happen now.

No, of course they couldn't be one of those couples that still maintained a relationship while avoiding one of their houses. They couldn't be that couple sneaking around at school or meeting up at midnight or lying to their parents about going to a friend and actually going to their lover.

And Mitch wondered why. Because in his eyes, anything, _anything_ was better than not talking to Scott anymore. Even if it meant they would go back to being friends who also coincidentally were madly in love with each other. That would be hard to deal with, but Mitch wished that he had thought of those secret relationships, of the option of limiting their contact but still having contact, sooner. Because now, they had agreed not to talk at all.

At. All.

Because that would eventually 'make it easier'. Sure. He scoffed again, scratched at his legs again. His legs that, three days ago, had been wrapped around Scott, straddling him. He scratched harder at them, his nails leaving behind white traces that were slowly turning redder and redder. Maybe, he thought, if he scratched at them hard and long enough, the feeling of Scott's legs entangled with his own while they were lying down naked in his bed would disappear. Maybe that way, the memory would be wiped from Mitch's brain.

There was a knock on his door, and Mitch inhaled sharply. If he had the power to stop the tears from flowing, the small sobs from racking through his body and for his voice to actually _work_ for once, he would yell at whoever was knocking on his bedroom door to fuck off. But he didn't, so he just chocked back another sob and pushed his face into the blanket Scott had left him with that Sunday, taking in Scott's scent.

"Mitchell?" The door opened. "Mitchell. Your mom and I are trying to sleep. Stop sobbing."

And he tried. He really tried, but when his sister came in a little later and sat on the side of his bed, when his sister laid his head in her lap and started slowly stroking her hand through the brown locks, he really couldn't. It was weird to have his sister comfort him, but in some way, it helped to have her run her slender fingers through his hair, to have her let him grab a fistful of  fabric of her shirt and pretty much soak it with tears. He didn't have the closest bond with his sister, but this reminded him once again that he should probably make more effort in creating one.

"Oh Mitchy... what happened? First you don't come home Saturday and then Sunday you immediately lock yourself in your room and cry yourself to sleep." She swallowed once, "Mitchy..."

"d-don't, Jessa." It was maybe the most pathetic thing about this whole ordeal yet, but having his sister call him Mitchy _hurt_ , simply because Scott always calls- or should he say called, now?- him that.

"What? Mitchy?" She sounded hurt.

Mitch just nodded against her stomach, burying his head further in her lap, letting tears now silently stream over his face. His body was still wrenching with sobs, but they weren't loud anymore. He was sure his dad was happy with that; him making less noise so that he and his mom could actually sleep.

" _Oh_ Mitch..." she said, again. And all Mitch did was hold on tighter, soak her pretty blue shirt with more tears.

And he felt so terrible. Not for himself, even though it really fucking hurt, no, he felt terrible for ever even getting Scott in this situation. For having let the blonde fall for him in the beginning. For sleeping over last Saturday, for not just _doing something_ about Scott's home situation. For not having been more cautious, for being a fucking _fool_ and falling so goddamn _hard_ for those blonde locks and blue eyes and adorable laugh. He felt bad for making Scott feel bad, because if _Mitch_ was lying here sobbing himself to sleep, who knew how bad _he_ had it? And then he felt bad for not having thought of how terrible Scott must be feeling and how bad of an (ex-)boyfriend he was to not even have the thought pop in his head.

He felt bad for his sister, who was combing through his hair with her fingers, whispering softly to him that it'll be okay and pressing a rare kiss amidst his hair. His sister, who was holding him close with both arms and sitting here on the side of his bed trying to have him calm down instead of going out with her friends like she had probably planned to do. He felt bad for his parents, that they had to deal with a child like Mitch; that they had to deal with a son who was not only gay, who was not only more feminine and barely had any friends, who not only got bad grades in school but was also almost never home unless it was with _Scott_ , but who also kept them awake at night with his sobbing over minor things such as _heartbreak_.

And he guessed he felt a little bit had for himself as well, because the next day would be Thursday and he had choir on Monday and Thursday and he had already skipped Monday so he _really_ couldn't afford to skip tomorrow too but he also really, _really_ wanted to avoid a certain pair of sad, blue eyes.

He had stopped crying somewhere along the line, but Jessa hadn't stopped holding him or whispering to him and he was _so_ thankful she hadn't stopped.

"I- Sc... Scott and I broke up." His voice was small, broken, and the words barely audible for his sister. The words tasted bitter on his mouth. So, so wrong. Because even though it had been a mutual decision, it hurt like a bitch to avoid the one person you loved. Especially when that one person you love loves you just as much.

And Mitch wasn't going to pretend he didn't hear his sister's sharp intake of a breath, as if her hands hadn't suddenly frozen in his hair, but somehow he was too tired to care. He just hoped she froze because she had never expected the two to break up, not because she was secretly thankful they had. As the sister of town's biggest ' _faggot_ ', he couldn't really blame her if she was relieved he wasn't dating Scott anymore. It must be really hard to get comments about your younger brother's ' _sinful lifestyle_ ' and getting asked if she was going down the same ' _devilish_ ' path as he was.

Really, sometimes he wished for himself to just he straight, to just be _normal_ so the rest of his family didn't have to take the piss.

-

He woke up curled into a ball, hands clenched into the fluffy blanket, and with no recollection of falling asleep or actually throwing the covers over himself last night. It means he probably fell asleep in his sister's lap, and a small sigh escapes his lips. It probably also means that she was the one tucking him in, and he's surprisingly grateful for that.

With not much enthusiasm, he managed to drag himself out of the comfortable bed, take a numbingly hot shower, scratch at his arms until they're itching and red and he's not sure if he'll keep them from bleeding if he goes at it longer, and throw on the same hoodie he'd been wearing for the past three days, even if the only reasons were that it was huge, soft, and Scott's.

He didn't care to pick some food from the kitchen, and just walked outside with his backpack slung across his left shoulder. He usually drove to school with Scott, but now he walked to school. It wasn't even that long of a walk- twenty minutes at most-, but with every step he dreaded the oncoming hours more and more. Not so much the classes rather than choir, where he both definitely would have to face Scott- he couldn't really avoid him there- _and_ would get questioned about where he had been last Monday.

Funny, he thought to himself, letting out a small chuckle, funny how the one thing he had always enjoyed was now something he was dreading, and wasn't even looking forward to.

Funny how, even though he really didn't want to be confronted with Scott, his heart ached when he saw him standing in the hallways looking like a little lost puppy, Kirstin steadily by his side. And instead of walking over and wrapping his arms around Scott from behind, surprising him and being engulfed in a big hug moments after, he now bit his lip, trying not to cry.

For the past few days, he had been successfully not crying when seeing the blonde, but the pressure behind his ears has been building up. He dug his nails in the soft skin of his wrists, hoping that he could divert his pain from his head and heart to his wrist. It didn't work.

And apparently, he had been staring at the pair too, if Kirstie suddenly looking at him was any indication. She tried giving him a sympathetic smile, no doubt knowing what was going on with the two boys, but as soon as Scott started turning his head, Mitch walked away. He didn't want to see those blue eyes. He really really didn't, because he was sure that he would cave when he saw them. That he would drop everything and wrap his arms around Scott. But he couldn't. They had decided not to. Decided that it would be for the better to avoid each other for a while. 'A while' definitely classifying as longer than three days, as much as Mitch already wanted to call those three days an eternity.

He'd been right about caving when he saw those blue eyes.

The minute he walked into choir practice and automatically looked to the space he and Scott usually stood, his eyes locked with the blonde's. Both immediately looked away, and Mitch hurried to stand and the polar opposite of where Scott was standing. He bit his lip, and as stupid as it was to be breaking down and ready to cave in with just one simple look, a couple stray tears dropped out of his eyes.

To say choir practice was a disaster was like saying Scott's eyes were blue; in a way, not wrong, but also so, so shortcoming of reality because it was simply so much _more_. Mitch practically stared at Scott, looking away only when he noticed Kirstin raising an eyebrow, his choir director giving him a pointed look or- worst of all- Scott catching him staring. He even missed cues, sang in the wrong key, wasn't in tune or failed to hit simple high notes; his voice faltering or cracking.

The third time his voice faltered on an especially high note, he just stopped singing. Mitch pretended not to notice the stares that he was getting, pretended not to notice that the choir had fallen silent and that people were whispering about how "little faggot teacher's pet mitch is failing to hit his notes", how "the small prodigy with the gay voice missed his cue again".

When the guy next to him shoved him and made him lose his balance, only to snicker and glance at him with a smirk, Mitch had enough. Everything with Scott was affecting him to the factor where it was affecting his _singing_. And singing, along with Scott, was the thing keeping him sane. Keeping him alive. So maybe it was irrational of him to just walk out of choir, to not pay attention to his choir director who was always so sweet to him and cared for every single one of her students; maybe it wasn't wise of him to look at Scott on his way out, to lock eyes with Kirstie and to slam the door shut. Maybe it was stupid of him to run to the bathroom with tears in his eyes, to break down in sobs, clenching the sides of the sinks. But it was what his instinct told him to do.

"Mitch...? Mitchy...? Ohmygod, baby..."

Mitch didn't have the strength nor willpower to push away the strong arms turning him around, wrapping him up in a hug. He just clenched Scott's shirt between his fingers and sobbed into his chest. Everything about this was familiar; the hold, the smell, the shirt clenched in his balled fists... heck, even the tears were familiar.

And so he let Scott calm him down from the blind panic that had blurred his vision, had started coursing through his veins. He let the taller boy sway them a little, hold him close against his chest and run his fingers through his hair. Mitch let him, calming down with every circle Scott's thumb pressed is his back, every kiss pressed on the top of his head and every small murmur of "you'll be okay", "it's okay", "I love you", and variations.

But then, when he was calm, had started to uncurl and unclench his fingers, when silence wrapped around the two boys and Mitch's breath stopped hitching, his mind started wandering. Why did Scott come after him? They were over. At least for now. The idea of having to leave his embrace now simply because of Rick's threats pained him, and almost made him cry again.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. He shouldn't have held on to Scott this tight, because now it was only going to hurt to let go again. A new hiccup left his body, and there were still fingers running through his hair, fingers drawing circles on his back, pressing just a little closer at the whimpering sound following his hiccup.

But he was mad at Scott, right? Because Scott shouldn't have come after him. Because Scott following him only made it harder for Mitch to stay away like they had agreed. Because If Scott couldn't even stay away from him, then how the hell was Mitch supposed to stay away from Scott?

He pushed himself away from the comforting arms surrounding him, and looked up at Scott, trying to lock his eyes with the blonde but giving up when he saw them full of concern. He didn't want to meet those eyes right now, didn't want Scott's pity when he couldn't have the rest coming with it. He didn't want to have Scott for a couple precious seconds right now only to lose him again afterwards. Mitch shook his head slightly, biting down on his lip. His shoes were suddenly very interesting.

It was weird how he suddenly felt awkward, how he suddenly wasn't sure how to act around the one person he _always knew how to act with_. But even though it hurt, and even though he really, really wanted to climb back in Scott's embrace, he didn't.

"Scott." Mitch barely recognised the cold tone in his own voice; barely recognised the small crack he heard and the firmness of it. It was formal, and he hated every single part of it. "Why did you follow me?" His voice was smaller now, shaking a little.

"I-" The blonde tried locking eyes with him, and all Mitch could see was the concern clouding them, the sudden surprise at his question visibly affecting Scott. "I couldn't just... Mitchy-" _now_ Scott's _voice broke, too._ "I couldn't just leave you to fend for yourself in such a state... I couldn't just _not_ run after you."

It was hard to keep from crying when Scott was being this vulnerable with him, when it was clear that Scott didn't just randomly stop caring for him when they had agreed to keep their distances.

He wanted to reach out.

He took another step backwards.

"You can't just do that."

"Do what?"

Mitch shook his head, looking Scott straight in his eyes now. He was pretty sure his own eyes were red, glossing over with tears like Scott's were, but he needed to get through this. His nails were clenched in his own wrists, getting him to focus on the pain there instead of the pain in his heart. (When did his life become a romantic drama film, anyway?) A shaky breath left his lips, and he swallowed once more.

"You can't just run after me every time I cry, Scott. You said it yourself, you said we needed distance, and that we needed distance inside school as well. That that would make it easier for the both of us to keep our distances outside of school. And I know, _I know_ that I agreed on that. But Scott, it's not what I want. I don't think it's what you want either, you told me that it was always gonna be me an you hours before we broke up, for fuck's sake. I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been absolutely miserable the past few days, simply from not _talking_ to you. I feel pathetic, goddamnit. But unlike you, I keep my part of the agreement, _I_ actually keep my distance, no matter how fucking hard it is not to run to you and wrap my arms around your neck, to pepper you with kisses and beg you for just one more kiss before I have to go to class. You can't just-" he pursed his lips together, collecting himself for a few moments to prevent himself from yelling at the one boy he cared for. "You can't just not keep the promise to stay away unless you intend to blow this off and stop keeping our distances."

"Mitch-"

"No. I'm not done talking, Scott." He could almost feel the blood pulsing through his veins, and dug in his nails just a little bit more. It would be interesting to see if there were going to be small crescents engraves and how long for. Maybe it would even draw a little blood. "What I'm saying is that you're the one piece in my life making me happy, the one piece keeping me sane. And without that piece, everything else falls apart. It's like you're... I don't know... It's like you're the glue literally keeping me from falling apart and now that the glue is melting I am _breaking._ Scott, I can't handle you being away from me so much."

He kept his eyes on Scott's, even though he wanted to look away more than anything. Scott was _hurt_ , and _he_ had done that. He had _hurt Scott._ Their eyes searched the other's for a little bit, but Mitch was fast to break the contact when he felt like he would really break down. He turned on his heels, intending to walk back to the choir room, grab his bag, and just _go home._ It wasn't like he could sing now, all the sobbing having affected his throat.

He didn't get farther than two steps out of the bathroom, though. A hand clasped around his wrist, and he was spun around quickly. He winced at the contact, realising that he had probably dug in his nails further than he should have.

"Mitch... please..."

"No. Unless you're going to tell me that there's no reason to keep our distance, that we can go back to before and we'll just sneak around more, be more careful or run away, for all I care, I'm done, Scott. I'm tired, I want to go." A second of silence, and Mitch tugged on his arm, Scott's hand not yet releasing his wrist. "Let me."

"I- Mitch..." Despite the fact that he felt like breaking down now, Mitch raised one eyebrow, trying to keep his mouth from twitching and tears from dropping down his face. Heck, Scott looked like crying too, and that was affecting Mitch much more than the fact that he himself felt terrible. "I can't just risk that, what if my father really kills you? Mitch, you'd be _dead._ Because of _me._ Because of _us._ I don't want that, Mitch. I don't want my dad to kill you simply because we just so happen to be totally intoxicated with each other... Mitch, if he kills you, I'd be dead too. I can't go without you. Fuck, Mitch," Scott ran a hand through his hair- which Mitch noticed seemed rather untamed compared to usually- "Mitchy, you're my whole damn world. I don't want to be reckless and throw that away. I'd never forgive myself if my dad kills you. Because he wasn't kidding when he said that, _we both know that._ "

And Mitch knew that, yes, but if it wasn't Rick killing him, maybe he would be faster himself. It wasn't like anyone aside from Scott actually cared for him, and it wasn't as if he had the energy to pursue anything without him. Oh, how codependency was biting his ass right now.

There was a sudden panic in Scott's eyes that hadn't been there before, and when Mitch noticed that a couple tears had made his way out of his eyes, he just barely held back his own.

"M...M...Mitchy...?" He sounded so _broken_. Mitch would have devoted more words to it, but there weren't more. He just sounded broken, and that's it.

When Scott tentatively released Mitch's wrist and took a step forward, Mitch's heard sank in his stomach. Fuck. He had said that out loud, hadn't he? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit. Scott seemed frozen, and Mitch's eyes were blown wide now too.

And this time he did run.

He ran back to the choir class, not noticing that there were tears running down his face now. Again. Funny how he left the classroom crying and now hesitantly opened the door while sobs escaped his mouth. Upon opening the door, the singing quieted down. Mitch held his head down, his vision blurry. When he grabbed his backpack, some boy scoffed at him.

"Oh _nooo_ , what a _tragedy_ , little prodigy Mitchy is crying. What happened, Grassi? Did Hoying refuse to suck your dick? Or did he just simply not make you come? Stupid faggots."

The comment hurt more than it probably should, and because Mitch was sad and hurt and also kind of angry, this was the last little drop. He was known as someone relatively calm, someone happy and giggly but with loads of sass. He wasn't known for outbursts of anger, for screaming and/or yelling at his fellow students. When people saw Mitch angry, they almost always saw the calm and collected anger he carried with him. Apart from Scott, Mitch wasn't even sure if anyone had seen him yell out if desperation and pure anger before.

"FUCK OFF! LITERALLY, FUCK. OFF."

He slammed the door shut, hot anger feeding the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The class had fallen silent, stunned at his outburst, but Mitch's didn't notice; he had started running again. He ignored his choir teacher who was always so nice to him, he ignored the dumbfounded looks of students wandering the halls, the yelling of the secretary telling him that he can't just run out of school.

He ran until his legs couldn't run anymore, and then he continued to walk. He didn't know where to, he was just walking with no necessarily direction in mind. He didn't care that it had started raining and that he was slowly getting more and more soaked. All he cared for now was getting away. Away from school, away from stupid homophobic comments, away from _Scott_.

It was cold and it was raining and Mitch's thick sweater was thoroughly soaked, having walked for what felt like days on end already. He didn't really know how he ended up on the beach, knew that it must have taken him about an hour and half- at least. He didn't know why he had gone here, but didn't have the energy to think about it either. He sat down in the sand, even though it was more a pool of mud by now.

There weren't any sobs escaping his mouth anymore, and he couldn't tell if it were just raindrops running over his face or if it was a combination with tears. He checked his phone, but it was dead. Not that he actually had someone to call right now. He kind of hoped that Scott had started to realise what fools they were, falling for one another in such a homophobic environment. What fools they were to not call it quits or wait until they were older to take their friendship and make it a relationship.

Eventually, when sitting became too tiring, he lay down on the sand, curling up into himself. He had discarded his backpack beside him a little while ago, phone lying somewhere else in the sand. It probably would be broken after today, but he didn't really care. After all, he and Scott weren't supposed to talk, and he didn't necessarily talk to others. By now, he was positive there were indeed still running tears down his face, even though he wasn't sure how it was possible that there were this many tears.

You'd think that he had stopped crying by now, that he would have ran out of tears. But then he thought of Scott saying "always gonna be you and me", of Scott telling him "you're all I need, baby", and the tears came yet again.

-

Mitch woke up in his own bed.

He didn't know how he'd gotten there, just remembered passing out on the beach; cold, soaked and extremely exhausted, but also just _not caring anymore._ He blinked a couple times, trying to focus on actually being able to _see_ something in his dark room. It must have been early morning still, as there was no sun creeping through his curtains just yet, but not late enough for his alarm to go off already. His sheets were messy, thrown half over himself, leaving a blank space just beside him. Mitch himself was curled on his side/stomach, arm draped on the part of his bed without the sheets.

He was utterly confused. Both by how he'd gotten here- had he walked home during the night?- and why there was a seemingly empty spot besides him. Heck, Mitch wasn't even lying in the middle of his bed, which confused him yet again.

When he sat up, draping the sheets around his body, he found that he wasn't wearing last night's clothes either. Rather than that, he was wearing a huge shirt which he must have stolen from Scott's closet sometime and even still faintly smelled like the blonde. He furrowed his brows, flicking on the small light beside his bed. With light now spilling through his room, he didn't have to squint his eyes anymore to make out the obvious shaped of his closet, his chair, of everything in his room. His alarm clock stated that it was 5:38 in the morning, and Mitch wondered why he had woken up at such an odd time.

When his eyes fell on his chair, he took a double take, before slowly standing up and walking towards it. Draped over the back of his chair was one of Scott's hoodies. It was Mitch's favourite on the blonde; a little oversized, baby blue with close to none decorations on it. The hoodie was simple, but Mitch loved it on the blonde, loved the small sweater paws he would always make with it, loved how Scott would make Mitch wear it on some beach days and how it would come halfway to his thighs because it was even big on Scott and Mitch was way, way frailer than the boy.

Mitch also knew the hoodie had been in the back of Scott's car last he'd seen it. That there was no possible way for it to suddenly be in Mitch's room, carefully draped over his chair. A small sticky note was attached to the hoodie, and Mitch head was already spinning at the thought of _Scott,_ but he picked it up with trembling fingers anyway.

His vision was blurry, but he could still make out the handwriting that was unmistakably Scott's. He just about had enough thought in his head to sit down on his floor before examining it. The words were small, cramped onto the small, bright yellow, surface.

_Mitchy, I love you so much. You scared me so much. I thought you were dead. Please. Im sorry I cant be there with you now. Im sorry Im 2 scared my dad's going to hurt you if he as much thinks of us being together. Please give it a couple weeks more until summer break. We can run away when summer starts. Please. ILY Mitchy, please please please please wait for me. I cant function without you, and I know the past days've been hell but I cant afford to lose you even if that means taking more distance & being in pain rn. ILY_

There were little hearts scattered around the words, taking up any space otherwise having been open, and Mitch found himself curled in a small ball, gripping onto his knees and burying his head between them.

And Mitch felt as if his mind was being crumpled along with the note in his hands.

 


	3. talk me down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you might wanna get some tissues for this one

****Scott was panicking.

He probably shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. His fight with Mitch was still fresh in his mind, even though it happened almost two weeks ago now. He was currently tapping his foot at an unreasonably fast pace, probably annoying Kirstie- who was sitting next to him- endlessly. Judging from the annoyed breath she left out and how she sharply turned her body towards his, he guessed he was right.

"Scott. Please stop doing that."

He bit his lip, trying to stop his leg from bouncing up and down. A small "sorry," was all that fell from bis lips.

"Scott, honey, I know you're worried, but please, take a second to breathe."

And he tried, he tried taking a second to breathe, but it was shaky and hesitant and his breath faltered almost immediately. Kirstie nodded at him, giving him a small smile. He tried to force a smile on his face to reassure her, but it didn't work. The sides of his mouth dropped soon enough, his face ever paler than it already was.

"Kit..."

"I know, Scott. But what if he's just sick and forgot to call in?"

Because Scott- even though he _always_ worried about Mitch- would have been less worried if Mitch had read his texts, or if he had called in sick to school. But he hadn't, neither of those. Scott knew the first one because he anxiously checked his phone, sending the younger boy a text or call ever so often, and the second because administration had actually come to _him_ to ask if he knew where Mitch was. That he hadn't called in sick and that no one was answering the house phone. That, since they always saw Scott and Mitch together, they thought maybe he knew.

Scott shook his head. He tried to convince himself that that was exactly what was happening. Mitch was sick at home, not answering Scott because he was asleep and he had simply forgot fo call in sick. Nothing more. He shouldn't overthink the situation. Yet, he couldn't help himself.

 _"If it isn't Rick killing me, maybe I will be faster myself._ "

The sentence spooked through Scott's head. It haunted his every day thoughts, and his lack of attention had definitely been noticed by his teachers. He was slacking, and it wasn't pretty. And now that Mitch wasn't at school, he was scared. Terrified. He'd known Mitch's mental health wasn't the best, had pleaded for the boy to talk with someone, to find a therapist or talk to a teacher he confided in. But Mitch had always refused, and up until two weeks ago, Scott hadn't realised that maybe he should have pushed harder. That he maybe should have done more, even though he couldn't possibly have done more without angering Mitch.

He felt terrible, realising that he should have done more and been a better boyfriend for Mitch. But the latter always told him that as long as he had Scott, as long as his sun was shining, he would be okay.

But now he didn't have Scott, and Scott felt like an idiot for not realising that without him, Mitch would break. He had told him, even. He had told Scott that it had felt like Scott was glue holding him together and that without the glue, everything was breaking and falling apart.

And Scott hadn't known how to form words. Hadn't known what was right to do. He had wanted to hold Mitch in his arms, shield him from all pain ever getting to him, but he also knew he shouldn't. Because if he wasn't going to be able to stay away when they needed to, the only result would be a mess. Scott'd rather have a painful couple of weeks until summer break started, until he could run away and find a way for Mitch to come with him, than to lose Mitch forever because they'd gotten too close. Because his very own dad would have killed Mitch.

Without Mitch, Scott'd be nothing. Maybe if Scott was the sun, then Mitch was the earth, the sun's one purpose in life. The one thing the sun existed for.

"Hoying."

His head shot up. He had just tried calling Mitch again, despite being in the middle of class. His stomach clenched when he saw the disappointment in his teacher's eyes, arm extended, hand held open. He almost seemed to feel sorry for Scott, who was always the good student, even if he needed toilet breaks more often than the usual teenager.

"Phone, mister Hoying. I thought by now you knew those were forbidden?" The man raised an eyebrow, and Scott's hand gripped his phone tighter. He didn't do it consciously, but he started shaking his head wildly. No. Not his phone. He had to know if Mitch was okay, had to be there immediately if Mitch messaged him. His bottom lip was trembling, and his face was pale. Yet, his teacher held his hand outstretched until he gave him his phone.

"You can come pick it up when class is over. Come on now, back to work."

He felt nauseous. The end of class was well over forty minutes from now, and a lot could happen within forty minutes- things he didn't want to even think about.

He tried to swallow down his nausea, listen to Kirstin counting out breaths for him to take, to focus on her fingers drawing small circles on his wrist. He tried to let his mind focus on his math questions in front of him, a subject he usually enjoyed and understood but he now couldn't ever remember the simplest things of. His eyes didn't focus on anything, his brain wouldn't shut up and his leg was bouncing up and down again.

This time, Kirstie didn't tell him to stop.

He barely noticed when the bell rung, and when he did, he made a beeline for his teacher's desk. He had discarded his bag and books, eyes frantic when he picked up his phone.

"Scott?" His face paled, fingers trembling as he clicked the notification. Kirstie lay a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't react to the gesture at all.

"Hoying?" His teacher, now.

But he only had attention for the one message displayed on his phone, delivered twenty seven minutes ago.

 _"_ ** _M_** ** _:_** _talk me down"_ , was what his phone read.

You know, when in movies everything went silent and a loud buzz took over? When the screen seemed to freeze and the only thing that could be heard was that hideous noise? That was what Scott felt like was happening now.

He was sitting on a chair now (he didn't know when he had sat down), his teacher's face floating in front of him. He had no idea where Kirstie had gone off to, but he guessed she went to their next class.

"Scott, are you okay? Do you need me to get some water? Do I have to get miss Maldonado back for you?"

No. No he wasn't okay and he didn't need and water and he didn't need Kirstin. He needed to get out of here and find Mitch. He couldn't believe he hadn't texted him yet. Fuck.

_He hadn't texted Mitch yet._

He frantically shook his head, stumbling to his feet and sending Mitch multiple texts. Of course, he didn't immediately receive an answer.

"Scott, sit down, please, I'll get Kirstin for you." His math teacher's eyes were pleading, for as far as Scott paid attention to them. His voice was calm, but not calming enough. It wasn't the one he had to hear right now.

He didn't even have time to answer his teacher before the elder had run off to wherever Kirstie had gone to. Scott didn't sit back down, obviously. No, he scrambled his backpack for his car keys, before quite literally running out of the school and jumping into his car, slamming the door shut.

His heart was beating frantically in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His vision seemed sharper, and his breathing was short and shallow. His hearing seemed to have blocked out just about anything and everything except for the sound of his own blood running through his body, of his heart beating in his chest, his breathing coming out short. His knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel, and he felt like his foot could cramp up any second from how tense his whole body was.

He drove to the one place he could think of, as fast as he could without causing any accidents. That he drove way above the speed limit couldn't bother him any less. His mind was numb for flashbacks, and if he could have, he would have screamed. Driving to the beach in a rush reminded him of how he had done exactly the same just a little short of two weeks ago. It had been raining then, pouring down so hard that Scott could barely see. Right now, the sun was shining bright, no clouds to be seen. He would have paused to appreciate the beautiful weather if the circumstances were any different from now.

Two weeks ago, he had already been driving for an hour when he even thought of Mitch going to the beach. It hadn't popped up in his head, simply because the beach was almost fifteen minutes of a drive already, and walking that would be a _long_ walk. But when he realised that those were his last chances of finding Mitch, combined with Mitch telling him that _he maybe would be faster killing himself than Rick would_ and that the beach had literal _cliffs_ on the side, he had driven there as fast as he possibly could with the terrible weather, sobs threatening to come out of him, and Kirstie sitting next to him trying to calm him down enough for them not to land themselves in an accident.

Right now, there was no bad weather, there weren't any sobs, and there was no Kirstie to calm him down. He didn't need calming down right now. He was shaking, yes, but he wasn't sobbing, wasn't even crying. For some reason, he couldn't. He felt numb, as if his body didn't know how to react until it knew more.

He felt sick at the thought of driving to the beach again for the same reason; to find Mitch. He felt sick at the thought that this time, he may not find Mitch shivering in the rain, passed out, but– he didn't even know. Didn't want to think about all the ways he could find Mitch. Because he _would_ find him when he got to the beach. He _knew_ that. It was their place, it was where Mitch had run off to in panic, when he probably wasn't even thinking of going there.

Hell, the beach was their fucking sanctuary, if anything.

The closer he got though, the more rapid his breathing got, the tighter the feeling in his chest became. The more he just wanted to turn around and wake up from the nightmare he was currently having.

Scott promised himself that after this, he and Mitch would just run away. Or he would rent a hotel room with his dad's money for the two to stay in to finish school. He would build his own shack if he had to. Anything. He would go to therapy with Mitch, worship him like the ethereal being he was, hold him in his darkest moments and laugh in the brightest ones. They would spend their days cuddled up and creating harmonies with intertwined fingers drawing unnameable shapes in the air again. Scott was never let something like the past weeks happen again.

He shouldn't have let it happen in the first place. He had been dumb. Selfish. He had been selfish when he _knew_ he shouldn't have.

He gripped the steering wheel even tighter, counted to twenty and backwards, only to repeat the process and attempt to slow down his breathing. It didn't work, but on the positive side, his breathing didn't spike up again either.

The clenching feeling in his stomach- you know the one; the one that goes "Something is _definitely_ wrong, but I don't yet know exactly what. Please, god no, let it be anything from what I think it might be."- wouldn't go away.

-

There were police cars. An ambulance. Police tape marking off parts of the cliffs; parts of the beach. There were news crews and photographers and loads and loads of bystanders.

All control he'd had was gone within an instant. He didn't bother to turn the ignition, didn't bother to lock the door to his car. He didn't bother checking if he was in a parking space, if there was traffic coming when he ran across the road.

_Mitch._

It could only be because of Mitch. It could only be because something bad had happened. Something bad had happened to _Mitch._ To the beautiful boy he sang with and cuddled with, who he cherished like no other and with who he shared the most comforting silences. It couldn't _not_ be because of Mitch, because this was their beach. Their sanctuary. And Mitch had _texted_ Scott. And Scott hadn't replied back. Scott hadn't seen the text. No, Scott had been in _class,_ while Mitch was at the beach.

And now there were taped off areas and police cars and journalists and ambulance workers and people who didn't even _know_ Mitch but were trying to get a glimpse of what was happening and weren't letting him through.

His breathing was ragged, fast and high in his chest. His eyes were blown wide, and he was trying to find some way to get information or to get past the people in his way or to get to the ambulance. His feet were moving before his brain could comprehend what was happening, and before long he was stumbling to the side, ducking to avoid the police tape, and within the secluded area.

And then he felt like throwing up.

 _Mitch._ The name rolled off his lips in a whisper. Mitch had been here. Mitch had been _here._ Mitch was here. Right now. Probably. Maybe. _Hopefully._ And Scott wasn't going to calm down until he found his boy.

"Hey!"

Scott kept on walking, ignoring the booming voice of authority behind him. His eyes weren't focussing on anything and everything was blurry and spinning and only then did he realise that it wasn't the world around him spinning, but it was _him_ spinning. He clutched his stomach, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, aiming to walk to the white ambulance somewhere in front of him.

"Hey, young man! You have to get out of here! This is police speaking!"

He bent over, scraping his hands on the little stones scattered in the grass. He stumbled, trying not to fall face down on the ground. It was hard to stand up again, mostly because his head was spinning and he felt sick because all this uproar couldn't mean anything good and what if- no.

He had to... had to get to the ambulance. Had to hold Mitch in his arms and pepper kisses on top of his head between his hair. Had to promise him that everything was going to be okay. He had to get–

There was a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He flinched away, wanting the touch off of him. It burned on his skin already, even though he was wearing a t-shirt and the big hand hadn't even touched his bare skin. Still, there was too much pressure and the hand was too close in size of one that he knew all too well, and he flinched away.

"Mitch..." the whimper fell off his lips as he started to try and walk again. The hand was on his shoulder now, and all his muscles tensed up. The man who the hand belonged to wasn't in his sight until he got spun around.

"Hey, kid, are you okay? You have to get out of here. This is a closed off area."

"M- Mitch." Scott shook his head, eyes blown wide but still not properly focusing. He distantly heard his phone ringing in his pocket, but didn't care enough to check who was calling him, because whoever was calling him wasn't his beautiful, petite, brunette tenor. He had to get to the ambulance, had to get away from the police officer whose hand still hadn't left his shoulder and who was trying to get him to walk away. He wouldn't go away. He wouldn't leave when he was this close to closing his arms around his boy and murmuring in his ear that everything was going to be okay.

He didn't know what happened between the police officer telling him he should get off of the beach and now, sitting on a plastic chair some distance away from the ambulance with both a medic and two officers close by. He just- he just had to get up and get to Mitch. He was shaking possibly, maybe, definitely, but that wasn't going to stop him.

What _did_ stop him was a gentle hand on his shoulder. Smaller this time, female. There was the tiniest tattoo of the letter f between two of her knuckles, and the red colour of it matched perfectly with her nails. Why he noticed, he didn't know.

"Are you okay, kiddo?"

No. No he wasn't okay but that was because _Mitch_ wasn't okay and he had to make sure Mitch was okay because if he wasn't okay nothing would ever be okay because Scott needed Mitch and Mitch had always needed Scott and-

"Hey, calm down, come on, deep breaths..." He gulped, coughing because of the sudden increased income of air. "Good, there you go."

"Mitch." It came out broken, small. He wanted to ask her if Mitch was okay, if he could see Mitch and hold him, if Mitch was... well... _alive_.

"Mitch." Another strangled cry. He wanted to form words but he was too focused on Mitch to think rationally, to slow down his breathing _again_ , to get stable enough to actually follow through with finding Mitch.

"Mitchy- I- No- Mitch..."

 _And he still couldn't cry._ His eyes were red, promising tears, but there were none. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so, so, bad. But instead he was here, sitting on a plastic chair letting out chocked off sobs and whimpers and only being able to say Mitch's name because that was all he cared for, really.

His phone rung again, and when he didn't answer, a second call was made immediately. He barely noticed. His skin felt prickly, too tense and too sensitive and he didn't want the medic to touch him but the small pressure of a hand on his skin grounded him at the same time.

"Mitch..."

He watched as the medic looked to officers suddenly, confused as to what was happening. He felt like a broken record, repeating Mitch's name over and over again in his head, letting it fall off his lips in murmurs. Scott shivered, despite the warm weather.

"–name of the boy again?"

The officers fell silent as they watched the medic, and Scott could only look on, numb. The one who had found Scott, had told him to get away, raised one of his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly to the side.

"Mitchell... Grassi? I believe? Wh-," the officer's eyes flickered to Scott, "Oh. Mitchell. _Mitch._ "

And Scott knew, Scott knew all this upheave and the ambulance and the police and the bystanders and the taped off area was because of Mitch, but-

"Mitch." It was a high pitched, frantic whine now, not a small whimper or whisper, not a mantra like before. No, there was realisation now. Because even though he had _known,_ having it confirmed was whole another story. Where he hadn't been able to cry before, it felt like the tap suddenly got turned open. Like a couch or maybe a house or something even bigger and heavier, had just fallen on his chest. And he couldn't- he couldn't breathe.

"Mitch. No. No." He shook his head, vision blurring with tears that continued to spill down his face. He tried to stand up, to turn off his ringing phone because the sound was slowly making him insane, but he only fell to the ground again, Mitch's name rolling off his tongue again and again and again.

He hugged his knees, not noticing the medic picking up his phone to answer the call; not noticing the way the three people hovered by him, unsure what to do. All he noticed was the way his breath was high in his chest, coming out in high screeches; the fact that Mitch wasn't _here_ ; that he had no idea where he _was_ and that he didn't know if he was _okay_ but that he probably wasn't.

Scott's eyes were wide, his mouth open, loud sobs coming out. Because Mitch _wasn't_ okay. Otherwise he wouldn't be here and there wouldn't be police and there wouldn't be medics and there wouldn't be an ambulance driving away and fuck- he had to go where that ambulance was going. He had to see Mitch. Had to see his pretty boy.

"No!" He screamed now, the word breaking on his tongue.

He was shaking, maybe even rocking back and forth slightly, trying to make himself as small as possible. Even though his loud wails made his presence more than obvious.

Scott felt like a small kid, tears running down his face, arms hugging his body. He remembered being little and screaming for his mom when he had a particularly bad nightmare. You know the kind; the one where you're screaming and crying and you choke on your words and you _can't bring yourself to stop._ Where you have no idea of where you even are and sometimes not even a recollection of the nightmare you'd just had. Everything was just black and dotted with tears and he felt dizzy and his head hurt.

"—in critical condition..."

He was screaming, although for all he knew they were whispers. He felt like he was screaming. Mitch's name. Profanities. "No."

There was a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away, scared that his father had found him here, breaking down because of _Mitch_ , when he had clearly forbidden anything to do with the beautiful tenor. He had no idea how he would have, given that it's daytime and his dad was either drinking or passed out because of drinking and wouldn't randomly be coming to a beach, but the hand was firm and big and putting just the certain amount of pressure on his shoulder.

"G- get away from me..." he whimpered through his sobs, wanting the feeling of the hand on his body to disappear. He meant for it to come out like a scream, but he doubted the fear in his words could even be heard.

He was scared.

"—you can get here in ten, that'd..."

He _had. to get. to Mitch._

He saw feet approaching him, but he shied away again. No. No. The only person he wanted now was Mitch. Mitch, or his mom. But he hadn't seen his mom in over five years, hadn't spoken to her in about four. And Mitch... he didn't even know. Didn't want to give it too much thought, even though he probably already had. He didn't want to think about the state Mitch was in right now, didn't want to think of what could be happening right this very moment. Didn't want to think about the possibility that- no. He couldn't even think about not thinking about that.

He was just crying now, sobs wracking through his whole body, shivers running down his spine, hands clenching and unclenching. He shied away from the police officers and medic trying to calm him down because they weren't _Mitch_ and they weren't his _mom_ either, but they _did_ remind him of his dad, even though the medic was a small, gentle woman. He wanted to scream again, but his throat was sore and he was so goddamn tired and he _had to get to Mitch._ He just didn't have the power to stand up.

"Scott?" He recognised the voice, the gentle hand on his shoulder.

He didn't jump when the hand made contact, or when he heard his name called again. But he didn't stop crying either.

How could he stop crying? His boyfriend- ex, but it wasn't really like either of them wanted that, he was fully aware of that-, the one thing he cared for, his whole world, had attempted _suicide_ and Scott didn't know if he was going to be okay, even though he didn't want himself to get stuck in the loophole of thinking that it _wasn't_ going to be okay. It _had_ to be okay.

"Kirstie?" His voice cracked, and  tried to blink through the waterfalls. Needless to say, that part didn't work- Kirstie remained a blurry figure. He did recognise the perfume she'd been wearing lately, and it reassured him that it was really _her._

"Hey, Scott." Her voice was soft, careful. "C'mon, get up, we're gonna follow Clare, the sweet nurse over there, to the hospital." Hospital. Mitch. Right? If they were going to the hospital they were going to Mitch? He stilled for a second.

"Mitch?"

"Yes, baby, Mitch. If you get up now and follow us to the car, we-" she swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice from wavering, "we'll go to Mitch, okay?"

From her telling Scott this to getting to the hospital, everything felt like a blur to him; getting up with some help, being seated in the unfamiliar car, having Kirstie pull his head into her lap, threading her fingers through his hair and shushing him softly even though it was of no use. Kirstie had talked with the nurse, Clare, but Scott hadn't had the energy to pay any attention to it. He was pretty sure he wasn't screaming or sobbing extremely loud anymore, but his vision was blurry still and he was pretty sure there were still tears running down his face and hiccups in this throat.

Right now, they were outside the hospital, and Scott stood frozen in fear. There were tears threatening to spill out of his eyes again at the sight of the clean, white building.

"Scott?" Kirstie was tugging on his arm. Right, they'd been walking before he had stopped.

"Come on, noodle, gotta see Mitch." The smile on her lips was forced, and when he looked closer, he could see that they were clearly quivering.

"Kit... what... what if he-" Scott didn't want to finish the sentence. Couldn't.

Kirstie shook her head and bit down on her lip. A soft "no" escaped her lips, and she grabbed Scott by his wrist. "No, we're not going down that road and you're not going to fucking _stand_ here because Scott, it's _Mitch_ and you- we-" a tear slipped from her eye, and she frustratedly wiped it away. "Fuck. Just, Scott, I have to see him too." Her voice was dangerously close to breaking now, and Scott stepped forwards, wrapping his arms around his friend. He swallowed, blinked back tears, counted to twenty and down again, and let her go.

Inside, he felt his heart clench immediately. The pit in his stomach was getting deeper with every step, and he wondered if maybe if he fell through, he would end in tartarus. Clare walked in front of them, but she was silent, Scott thought. If he was being completely honest, he didn't really hear anything but the buzz in his ears; steady, sharp, and annoying.

—

It broke Kirstie's heart to see Scott completely broken down. Her blood had run cold when Clare had answered her call, when she told her that Mitch had _jumped off a cliff_ , and only barely survived. That they couldn't tell with certainty if he would make it or if he'd die in the hospital. That they'd do everything they could to make sure that wasn't that case, but that it would be hard.

She had felt an enormous punch in her gut when Clare told her about Scott's breakdown, how he was sobbing and shaking, how he wasn't letting anyone near him and how he screamed for Mitch and for his mom. The last one had felt like a stab through her heart. Scott and his mom didn't talk. Hadn't, for years. He barely even talked to his sisters, with whom he had always been close before the divorce. She wasn't even sure if they exchanged "happy birthday's" and "merry Christmas's".

He looked like a kicked puppy. Like a lost, kicked puppy who had given up on everything. She guessed it wasn't all too far from reality. But Scott wasn't the only one who felt like his heart had been trampled on. Kirstie herself felt like a mess too, especially now that they were walking through the halls of the hospital, guided by Clare. But she tried her best to keep herself together, even if only for Scott's sake. If she were to break down right now, too, he would be off even worse.

She couldn't stop the tears escaping her eyes, but she swallowed down cries and pursed her lips together. Shoulders back, deep and calm breaths. In through her nose, hold for a few, out through the mouth.

They halted, and Scott immediately grabbed for Kirstie's hand, almost crushing it in his tight grip. Under pretty much any other circumstances, she would have scolded at him and tell him to loosen his grip, but she didn't have the heart to do that now. Scott needed to hold something, and if that was her hand, then so be it.

"I'm not completely sure if they'll let you in, never mind the both of you, so if you'll wait here for a second," Clare explained to them, and Mitch's name rolled off Scott's lips again when she walked away. The room they were standing by didn't have any windows, but the door was open and she could hear people conversing and see doctors and nurses running in and out.

"C'mon, Scott, let's sit down while we wait for Clare to come back." She guided him to the row of chairs, made sure he didn't fall on them but instead sat down. He was shaking, but he didn't protest, for which Kirstie was all too grateful. She didn't know if she had the energy to deal with that right now.

The tall blonde curled himself up for as much as he could, tears running down his face again. Kirstie wondered how it was possible he hadn't run out of tears yet, how he hadn't simply fallen asleep because of how low his energy level probably was. She figured it had something to do with how codependent Scott and Mitch were, how they _needed_ each other to function; with how they simply _loved_ one another.

She let some tears drop out of her own eyes now, not just because of the fact that she might _lose_ one of her best friends, but for the boy besides her too, because she didn't know how _he_ would survive without Mitch. And she couldn't- she couldn't lose either of them. She couldn't allow her mind to wander to what was happening in the room opposite to her, couldn't allow herself to think about all the things she could have done better if only she had paid more attention or how she should have let Scott go this morning when he was so scared because Mitch wasn't in school and hadn't called in sick or let him know anything. But there was no way she possibly could have known, no way she could have known Mitch was trying to commit suicide while they were in class. She didn't want to think about the very real possibility of Mitch... of Mitch _dying._

So instead she focussed on Scott, ran a hand up and down his shaking arm as a silent comfort.

"Hey." Clare's soft voice pried through her thoughts, and she looked up at her kind face, urging a "Mitch" and "Mom" whimpering Scott to do the same. When he complied, Kirstie could see Clare's face soften even more, becoming more gentle. She spoke as if she was talking to a small child, which definitely seemed like the best option. "Hey, kiddo, they usually only let in family members-" she saw Scott swallow, saw how he tried not to break _again_ \- "but I managed to have them make an exception for you."

Scott stood up immediately, slightly swaying on his feet. "Mitch," he brought out again, voice raspy and shattered. He was so pale Kirstie was almost sure he was going to pass out or throw up, but he simply stood there. Clare nodded to Kirstie, mouthed that she would be back in a second. She tried to nod back, to ignore the tightness in her throat, but she didn't think she managed to.

It was only when Clare got back to her with her own tears watering, when she asked if Kirstie needed a hug and wrapped her arms around her, that Kirstie noticed she herself was trembling too. Her lips were quivering, and her vision was quickly filling with tears. Yet, despite Scott being out of her sight, with Scott being with Mitch, she couldn't allow herself to break. Not yet.

"T- thank you..." she whispered to Clare, thankful beyond words for her kindness, for the hug, and for the fact that she somehow managed to get Scott in there. Because no, Scott wasn't family by blood, but to Mitch, he was the most important person in his life, anyone who knew the two- even with the past two weeks of them trying to stay away from one another- knew that.

"It's okay, dear. It-" Clare herself took a shaky breath, "It really tugs on your heart when stuff like this happens, you know? And sometimes it's... it's easy to distance yourself because you don't _know_ the kid and I myself usually am not the person who deals with family when they receive the news or get here, but... the way your friend- Scott, was it?-" Kirstie nodded. "broke down... God, that really hurt," Clare shivered, her voice wavering, "He was screaming,  sobbing. We couldn't even get close to him or he would flinch away... I don't know the nature of those boys's relationship, but I'm guessing they really- really care for each other..."

Kirstie nodded. You could say that. "They're really codependent, yeah," was all she managed to bring out with a strained voice.

They chatted for a little more, Clare giving her some instructions, telling her to look after herself and Scott and that she would try and get around to them a bit when she had the time, but that she had to go now. She told her to stay strong, and Kirstie swallowed the lump in her throat and fished Scott's phone from her bag. She was surprised by how well she was managing to hold back a breakdown herself.

It took her a couple moments to find the right contact in his phone, and a couple more of anxiously holding her breath and tapping her foot, before the call got answered.

"Scott?" The woman on the phone sounded surprised, a little confused, but also slightly relieved.

"N-no... C- Connie, this is Kirstin..."

"Oh?" She sounded even more confused.

"I- uhh... I'm-" she swallowed hard. She wouldn't start crying now. Not now. Not while she was calling Scott's mom to plead her to come to the hospital because her son was going absolutely _through it_. "Can you come to the hospital? Please?" Her voice got several pitches higher at the last word. The other line went completely silent, and only a couple seconds later did Kirstie realise this made it sound like Scott himself was severely injured. "Scott's okay!" she hurried out, almost tripping over the words. "Well- he isn't, isn't okay, but he isn't injured or anything. He just... it- he- _please_."

"I- uh, of course. I just haven't heard from him for so long, so you have no idea how much of a shock it is to hear _something_ , sweetheart. But I'll be on my way as soon as possible. Can you maybe text me some details about where to go? It's quite a drive from here, but I reckon if I speed a little I'll be able to make it in five alright, is that okay? Please take care of yourself and my boy," Connie's voice was strained and she was talking fast, but Kirstie nodded along, telling her that that was fine and ending the phone call with a "Stay strong, Kirstie" from Connie's side.

She felt funny. Having been friends with Scott for a long time, she had known his mom when she was still in his life. She hadn't expected her to not care about Scott or anything, but the clear fear in her voice, concealed by trained calmness, hurt her. It made her feel sorry for the broken family even more so than before. It almost made her wish Scott had followed his mom, despite the fact that he wouldn't be here with her and Mitch anymore. He and Mitch would have found their way; they both could have gone.

Her lips were trembling, and in all honesty, she felt like breaking more and more with every second passing. She was hugging herself, pacing back and forth as she listened to the beeps through her own phone.

"Kirstie? You're not calling me while in class, are you?" She pursed her lips, trying to keep back from crying now. The sound of her mom's voice, slightly accusing, a bit worried, and confused, made her hands shake some more, and her grip on her phone tightened.

"No- I- Mom..." Her voice was wavering, dangerously close to breaking, and she let out several shaky breaths to try and control it.

"Hey, what happened? What's wrong?"

"C-can you..." Kirstie hiccuped while trying to keep out a sob. It was weird, in a way. That she could suddenly break simply by hearing her mom's concerned, soft voice. "come to the hospital? Please? M-Mi... Mitch a-and Sc- Scott- and... I- We- Scott... Please." She was crying now, had finally stopped pacing only to slide down against the wall to the floor. It was hard to contain sobs and cries leaving her mouth as it dawned upon her that she might be losing Mitch _this very moment_ , and that _Scott might be losing Mitch this moment_ and that with that she wouldn't just _lose Mitch_ , but she would also lose _Scott._

It took her mom not even half an hour to get to the hospital and the right corridor, and when Kirstin saw her, she broke down, letting her mom wrap her into her arms, listening to soothing words and shushing sounds. She could only mutter words, voice breaking and hiccups interrupting her sentences. When she'd gotten up this morning, she'd had no idea that hours later she'd be here, in the hospital, on the verge of losing a friend and with that maybe her best friend.

Because Scott without Mitch wasn't Scott. She had had enough evidence of that in the past two weeks. Scott without Mitch was moody, jumpy, didn't focus and lost aspirations. Scott without Mitch was just numb, walking around with a stoic expression and smiling and nodding when he was supposed to, but it never reaching his eyes. Scott without Mitch was like Mickey without Minnie, like Spongebob without Patrick, Tigger without Pooh, no mater how stupid and cliche those sounded. Because it was true, Scott without Mitch wasn't _Scott_.

She had stopped crying after a couple more minutes, not being able to produce more tears or energy. The warmth of being engulfed in her mother's arms calmed her, and she was now sitting on the ground, staring ahead with red, dry eyes and a tight throat. She wanted to talk, wanted to explain what had happened- or at least the small things she knew-, but she couldn't find the words to do so. Kirstie just hugged her knees, shivering not from cold but from fear and exhaustion. Her mom didn't push her to talk, thankfully.

"He jumped," she eventually whispered, staring at the hands in her lap. They were sitting on two of the five waiting chairs in the hall now, and Angelica had her hand on her daughter's knee as a way of comforting her. "From the cliffs." A gasp didn't go unnoticed by Kirstin, but for the rest, her mom kept quiet.

"S-Scott had been uneasy all day, because Mitch wasn't in school and hadn't let anyone know anything, and they had something small of a fight two weeks ago in which something bad slipped out-" she really wasn't about to tell her mom all the details of what had been said- ", and they'd been trying to stay clear of one another for the past two and a half weeks, as I told you. I mean, they didn't really talk, but anyone could sense how much they looked for the other and how both their moods had desperately decreased the past weeks. So, and-... Scott had been trying to call and text Mitch the entire morning, but had to give his phone away in Math because we're not allowed to be on our phones in class, obviously, and then Mitch texted him something, apparently. I don't know what, I don't think snooping would be a necessarily good idea, but he ran off before our teacher could get me back to him- I'd gone to our next class already, and then like forty minutes later he finally answered my calls. Or well, this nurse called Clare did, and she told me what had happened and if I could get there and then we got here and Scott's with Mitch- who's unconscious- now and he hadn't stopped crying and I called his mom because he was screaming for her," she nodded at her mom's extra wide eyes at this statement, "and then I called you and now I don't know what to do and I feel so _helpless,_ mom."

Her mom gave her a sideways hug then, hoping that this all would turn out fine. Because that was all they could do now, hope for everything to be resolved and for Mitch to live and for everything to fucking _turn out fine._

—

Scott had let more tears fall as soon as he was guided into Mitch's room. There were still doctors and nurses milling around, but apart from that, it seemed like everything was under control. But Mitch was lying in a hospital bed that was way too big for his small frame, and everything was white and clean and Mitch was _pale,_ even though Mitch was _never_ pale.

"M-Mitchy..." His voice was clearly trembling, and even though he flinched a little, Clare rubbing over his arm in a way of comfort was nice. Eyes in the room flickered to him as he spoke, but he didn't care. All he had eye for was Mitch.

He wanted his boy to be okay, wanted to hold Mitch, to cradle him in his arms, to tell him he would never leave again- ever. To tell him everything would be okay and that everything would turn out fine. To praise him and to hug him and to kiss him and pepper those same small butterfly kisses all over his skin. To run his fingertips lightly over every inch of Mitch there was, to run his fingers through his hair and let locks fall down his forehead with silly matching smiles on their faces. He wanted to sing with Mitch, create the most ridiculous harmonies. And Scott had no idea what he would do if Mitch _wasn't_ going to be okay.

"Mitchy..." he whispered, again, hesitantly taking a step forward. He wasn't sure what was okay to do, but there was a chair next to the hospital bed, so he guessed he was allowed to sit there and hold Mitch's hand tight in his.

-

He had fallen asleep pressing kisses to Mitch's knuckles, one arm splayed across his chest, grabbing at a piece of hospital-gown-fabric so he had something to hold on to, and the other hand tightly woven together with Mitch's, bringing it up to press kisses to at a steady pace. He had been tired already from crying, and when he had stopped his eyes had felt extremely dry and itchy, and finally being by Mitch's side had sent a small wave of reassurance through him.

When he woke up, there were fingers threading through his hair. His head was lying on the mattress on which Mitch was lying; the side pressed against Mitch's torso, the top of his head pressing against their entwined hands. He blinked slowly, unsure of where he was the first few seconds, until all of yesterday- was it even the next day? what time was it? how long had he been asleep and at what time had he gotten at the hospital to even begin with?- flooded back to him. He let out something between a whimper and a sob, clutching Mitch's hand just a little tighter.

The fingers in his hair were tender, lean and slightly familiar. But he couldn't place who they belonged to. It was calming, though, so with shaky breaths, he looked up at Mitch's face. He was still pale, motionless, and attached to way too many wires and machines. The only thing that calmed the rising panic in Scott's mind was the steady beep of the heart monitor.

He sat up, immediately feeling a sharp pang of pain in his back. Fuck. He really shouldn't have slept in such a weird position, considering his back _really_ hated him now. But it wasn't as if he couldn't have slept like that. Hell, he hadn't even planned on sleeping.

Still, he was a little drowsy, and only when the fingers in his hair stopped moving through it, he turned to look at the person who the hand belonged to.

"M-mom?" He uttered, furrowing his brows in confusion. It couldn't be. He hadn't talked to her in literal _years._

"Hi, baby. Do you want some water? Lindsay's in the hall with Kirstie and her mom, but I think they're sleeping now. You... you've grown so much the past years, Scotty..." She gave him a little plastic cup of water. "Here, you should drink some."

He took a small sip of the water, holding the cup in his free hand. Admittedly, the water was refreshing, but he was still really confused. "Mom? W-what? Why... why are you here?" His mouth was hanging open slightly, and he shifted his gaze from his mom to his boy and back again.

Surely this was a dream. He hadn't seen his mom in years, hadn't talked to her in _so long._ Why would she even be here? And maybe, maybe if he was making up that her being her was a dream, then maybe all of this was one big nightmare. Maybe the past two and a half week hadn't happened at all and he was lying in bed with Mitch in his arms after convincing him to please stay because it had been so long.

But it wasn't. Scott knew that all too well.

"I- Kirstin called me, and she... she asked if maybe I could come to the hospital and she sounded pretty desperate, honey."

Oh. Kirstie. Of course. He tightened his grip on Mitch's hand a little. He wasn't crushing it- wouldn't dare to- but he was holding on tighter than before. He found that he was rubbing his thumb over his knuckles, and pressed the hand to his lips yet again.

His mom looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot, and even though Scott had gotten some of her pale skin tone from her, she wasn't as pale as this, usually. Or at least, he didn't remember her this pale. That's what happens when you don't see someone for five years, he guessed. He didn't know what to say to her. He wanted to thank her, to hug her and to ask her why now and how she was doing, but all he managed to do was crack his voice with another sob, somehow combining the words "Mitch" and "Mom" while doing so.

He didn't know what to say or ask, but he _did_ let the familiar arms wrap around him and rock him back and forth. He inhaled the smell that was his _mom_ , something that he didn't think he'd miss as much as he did; something that had him breaking down all over again, but this time not just because of Mitch, but because of his mom. He had missed her. So, so much more than he'd ever liked to admit. And now, in safe arms, he felt like he was finally allowed to crumble. He felt like there was finally someone who could pick up his broken pieces and take care of him if he fell apart. Someone who wasn't Mitch. Someone outside of his little bubble of happiness that could calm him down when Mitch couldn't. Like now.

-

Scott didn't know what day it was, didn't know how much time had passed since he ran outside his math classroom Thursday. It felt like weeks, but that probably had something to do with the fact that he hadn't slept much, too. For all he knew it had just been a day, although the sleeping patterns of those around him convinced him it had at least been a few days. His mom and Lindsay had rented a hotel room nearby, and were over a lot, just staying by his side. He'd talked with them a little, but mostly he was focusing his attention on Mitch. Kirstin had gone home the nights, but been at the hospital anytime she wasn't sleeping. He probably had the three of them (and Angelica,) to thank that he was still drinking, that he was eating, getting up to use the toilet, and sleeping. That he was functioning as a mildly normal human being.

He was alone now, though, and fiddling with Mitch's fingers yet again. The sheets were a little crumpled from Scott lying on them with his head when he was sleeping, mostly, and he smoothed them out a little. It was a wonder to him that he had stopped crying, but apparently when you cry a lot you eventually _do_ run out of tears. He hadn't known that was possible.

"Hey, Mitchy. Me again, although I never really left between the last time I spoke to you and now." The doctors had told him that talking to him might work, but they had been hesitant on disclosing details on his conditions. Still, this was one of the small things that he _had_ been told, so it's what he did. "Please don't die on me now, Mitchy, _please_. I really, really can't go without you. Mitch, baby, you're my _whole fucking_ _world_ , and the _whole fucking world_ deserves to see you shine like the star you are."

-

"I love you, please wake up."

-

He was asleep with his head on Mitch's chest again, the steady heartbeat of his boy the only thing calming him down.

-

"Please."

-

"Scott, you should eat something, _please_ , you can't just sit there all day and not eat _anything_." Kirstie was desperate. For both Mitch _and_ Scott.

-

His eyes were dry and itching, it was dark outside, Mitch still hadn't woken up, and his throat hurt. Still, he wasn't going to leave him alone. He had done that one time before, and he wasn't planning on doing so _ever_ again. He couldn't. Mitch was his _everything_ , and he wasn't about to ruin what he already had ruined any further.

-

"Mitchy?" Scott shot up, his body both freezing and tensing up.

Mitch blinked slowly, and Scott almost let out a cry of relief. He was here. He was alive. Awake. Instead, he whimpered like a kicked puppy. He was staring at Mitch as the boy opened his eyes, and immediately furrowed his brows; confused.

Scott could feel his lip trembling, could see his vision blurring. But it didn't matter. Nothing did, because Mitch moved his fingers a little, fighting his thumb free and running it over Scott's. The small touch made Scott cry.

"Mitchy..."

"H-hey, Scotty..."

Both boys were staring at their intertwined fingers, playing with the other's softly. A daze had settled over them, and it seemed as if neither was moving on their own accord. Scott's lips found their way to Mitch's knuckles again, like they had countless times before, and Mitch squeezed their hands a little.

"You came?" Mitch's voice broke the silence, and he sounded so surprised that couldn't help but feel a little ashamed of himself. It made him ache for the boy even more so than he already had, and never had he wanted to wrap Mitch in his arms and press kisses on the top of his head and tell him to relax and sleep and that everything would be okay, more than now.

"Of course I came... Mitchy you're my world, that's never gonna stop. A-and," his voice was wavering, but he wanted to be able to talk for now, before doctors or nurses would come rushing in and check up on Mitch now that he was finally awake. "I love you so much, baby. I was so, so stupid, and I'm so fucking sorry. Shit-" he wiped at his eyes with his left, free hand. He could already feel the sob rising in his throat, but now was not the time to break down. "I just- Mitchy, I love you so much. I promise you, I'm never, ever gonna leave you again. Never."

He pressed another kiss to their intertwined hands, just for good measure.

"Love you too, Scotty," Mitch replied, a tired but fond smile on his face. And Scott tried his best not to cry, he really did, but relief had washed over him by hearing Mitch's clear voice, and he couldn't help it when tears started rolling down his face again. The tenor just smiled at him, fiddling with their fingers and _smiling at him_.

-

Mitch had fallen asleep again. He hadn't been awake for long, but long enough to answer a couple of the nurse's questions, and he and Scott had talked a little. It was apparent that he was tired and in pain, though, so he didn't actually talk much, which was fine by Scott. He talked to Mitch, told him stories that he had told him tons of times before, told him that his _mom_ was in the hall with Lindsay. He was happy enough to do the talking as long as Mitch was awake and tiredly smiling at him, muttering that he loved Scott ever so often, telling Scott that he was sorry- something that broke Scott's heart in a million pieces but at which he just smiled and continues to press kisses to their intertwined hands.

Just before Mitch had fallen asleep, Scott had pressed a small kiss on his forehead, lips spreading into a smile. He was calmer now. No, Mitch wasn't okay, neither physically or mentally, but he was _alive_ , and that was all that mattered now. Recovery would come, but for now it just mattered that he was alive and had woken up and Scott had heard him say "I love you" and had seen him smile.

He couldn't be sure, of course, but he also _was_ pretty sure there was a twinkle in his eyes, a smile resting on his face instead of him looking sullen. He had even gotten up and walked a little, stretching his long legs (which had become sore and achy by now, having been in the same position for too long). He had gotten himself some tea, because he had been living on coffee to stay awake for as long as possible, and had talked with his mom and Lindsay for longer than ten minutes. He was pretty sure there was a small skip in his step, and that, when he fell asleep because of his exhaustion, with his head pressing against Mitch's side, just barely lying on the bed, there was a smile tugging at his lips.

Because Mitch had survived. Mitch may have attempted suicide, may not be anything close to good, not even close to being "okay", but he was _alive._ And that was all that mattered, that in itself qualified as "okay" for now.

-

And then all of sudden it wasn't.

Suddenly Mitch wasn't okay anymore. Scott awoke to shouts, to people in white hospital clothing running around and to the beeping of machines and to someone standing next to him. Scott woke up and he just stared. He blinked, was sure he breathed, but didn't notice anything.

He didn't notice anything but the heart monitor in front of him displaying a flat line. It was letting out a noise somewhere between a low buzz and a slightly higher pitched beep. Scott hated it.

He clenched his hand around Mitch's, tearing his gaze away from the monitor to the tenor's face. Because surely this was a prank. Because Mitch had been _okay._ He had talked with Mitch, had smiled at him and gotten smiles back. They had even laughed a little. He had kissed Mitch's knuckles and received "I love you"'s in reply.

But it wasn't. It wasn't a prank and it wasn't okay and the monitor displayed a flat line and there were people shouting and some speaking in calm hushed voices and Scott couldn't feel Mitch's heart beating through the veins in his wrist anymore and _it wasn't okay anymore._

He felt like _he_ was the one that had just stopped breathing. Like someone had punched him real hard in his stomach so that now he was seeing blind. He felt like throwing up, like clutching on to Mitch with all he had because if he wouldn't _he never would again_.

He didn't realise he had been sobbing until an almost equally distraught Kirstie was trying to hold him back from laying his head on Mitch's stomach. It was of no use, and he clutched the sheets and Mitch's gown in his left hand like he had when he had been sleeping, only tighter now. And this time his whole body was heaving with sobs again, cries coming out of his throat. Doctors and nurses tugged at him, told him he had to let go, that they had to take Mitch away now. That there was nothing more they could do now. That he had _"passed away in his sleep because of his injuries"_.

He trashed against their arms, against their touches. Screamed at them, ran his thumb over Mitch's thumb like he always did. He tried shielding himself from the unwanted touches, tried to get them to go away because they reminded him too much of his father, too much of getting touched without wanting to and of getting hurt, even though right now he wasn't _physically_ hurting, but _emotionally._

Because Mitch was Scott's world. Mitch was his everything. Mitch was everything, and the world hadn't had gotten the chance to experience the kind of everything that Mitch Grassi was. Or had been. He'd have talk in the past sense now, when speaking of Mitch. And he couldn't stop crying.

His hand was pried away from Mitch's, and someone wrapped their arms around him, rocking him back and forth. He didn't want it. Didn't want to be held by someone other than Mitch, even if the person was trying to calm him down and running their hands through his hair and letting him sob in their shirt, soaking it with hot tears. He didn't want any of it, but he was tired, and so he let it happen.

He let the people around him comfort him. He let himself give in to being babied and to curling himself up in a small ball on a chair. Scott wasn't small or tiny by any means, but in that moment, he could've sworn he was smaller than the needles that had been pried in Mitch's body only moments before.

But all he wanted, all he needed, was Mitch. Because Mitch was the earth whereas Scott was the sun, and they needed each other to survive, to have a purpose. Mitch was his everything.

Mitch _had been_ his everything.

Mitch would continue to be his everything.   
  
  


-  
  
  


Scott couldn't do this. He stood frozen in front of the building. His heart was beating fast in his chest, and his mind spinning.

He hadn't been here in _eight years,_ yet here he was. His breathing was high, coming out shakily. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. In, hold, out. In. Hold. Out. Easy enough. He just- just had to breathe. If he just breathed it would be fine, it would be okay.

"You okay, Scotty?" He felt a hand squeeze his, and he nodded, lips pressed tight together.

He could do this. It was just another concert, another speech. Nothing he hadn't done before. Still, this was much harder.

When Mitch died, Scott hadn't been okay. He hadn't been okay for a long time, and finished his high school a year later than he had been planning to do. There had been multiple times, more than he liked to admit, where he had been standing in from of the mirror, asking himself if it was even worth it without Mitch. And even when he was convinced it wasn't, Kirstie had always pulled him back into a slightly better mindset, had made sure he was hydrated and he ate and slept. She told him that Mitch wouldn't have wanted that, but it didn't always help. Because Scott _knew_ Mitch would never want that, but sometimes it just seemed so much easier to just give up.

Half an hour later, he was bouncing his leg up and down out of nerves. It wasn't like this would be his first time performing, or his biggest performance ever. It wasn't like the speech he was going to give, the things he was going to talk about, were new. He had done it all so often, he could probably do it in his sleep. No, it was just that this was his old high school and that he was seeing Mitch everywhere.

The toilets, where they had spend their breaks making out. Stairs to which they had snuck off to during class to just get those five small minutes of contact because they were giggly teenagers who apparently couldn't go without one another for a couple hours. The choir room, in which they had almost always stood in the back, joking along. The cafeteria, where Mitch had sat on Scott's lap during lunch breaks to "save space" even though there was plenty. Lockers, which he had pressed Mitch against while nibbling down on his neck and feeling sharp nails press in the lower of his back, before they had to quickly break away because the bell was about to ring and they couldn't be caught like that.

He felt sick, wanted to throw up. It was too familiar, and he felt Mitch's presence everywhere he looked. If he closed his eyes, Scott could almost imagine that he was in high school again, spending his days with the most beautiful boy he'd ever known.

-

He didn't even get through his first song without letting tears drop down on the piano keys, but he pursed his lips and forced out a smile when his principal introduced him ("Scott Hoying, everybody!", followed by loud cheers).

"Hi, everyone," he chuckled into the microphone. He wasn't sitting behind his piano anymore, but rather walking around on the small stage he'd performed on when he was younger, "I'm Scott, and I'm here today to both perform a couple songs and to talk to you guys about something for a bit. As some of you may or may not know, when I was a teenager, I went to this exact high school," there were a couple cheers, but all Scott felt was the knot in his stomach. "Now, as you may know, too, I'm here to talk about something very important a- and very close to my heart." His voice was faltering already.

"I- I'm going to- to..." _fuck_. He couldn't do this, could already feel his heart rate going up. _It's no different than any other school, Scott. Deep breaths. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. In, hold, out. Good, there you go._ He locked eyes with Kirstie for a moment, who gave him an encouraging nod. "I'm going to talk to how important it is to keep those you love close bye. I want all of you, no matter who you are, to know that you're loved. I want you to know that you are beautiful, that you're valid. I want all of you, every single one of you, to know that your flaws, your sexuality, your gender, your age, your race, religion, appearance, they don't define you. You are not worth less because of those. If anything, it makes you worth more. It makes you, _you._ "

He walked around for a bit, got more animated, interacted with the group some and spoke more and more. He almost forgot that this was his old high school. For a small second, he almost forgot about Mitch. He sang a couple more songs, spoke more and more about the importance of speaking up, of talking with people, of taking care of others, asking if they were okay if you saw them struggling. Of standing up for someone even if you have no idea who they are, the importance of hugs and family.

"Now, if you don't mind, I want to tell you a little story. I'm sorry it isn't a happy one, but it- it's an important one." _Keep your voice in check, Hoying, you're squeaking._ "It's a story about a boy. Or two boys, if you will." He sat down, closing his eyes. He didn't know if he could do this. He usually didn't tell this when he held a talk in front of a high school audience, but this was his _old high school_ , and this was _for Mitch_. "I hope that, if you take anything from this, that you realise the value in reaching out to someone else than that one person you always talk with, that it- it's okay i- if you..." his voice broke a little, and he quickly wiped at his eyes. If anything, he wouldn't cry, not here, not now, "if you get professional help. Please. Please, if you feel like you might need help, don't be too late. Talk to people, reach out."

He had a slideshow for this, but as soon as he nodded towards Kirstie that she could hit play on it, as soon as he heard the little giggle from the video taken on a certain beach, he couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't. Not today, not here. He shook his head and muttered a sorry into the microphone. Scott motioned for Kirstie to cut the slideshow, to stop it, and thankfully, she did.

He finished his story, his story about Mitch, about himself, about the importance of surrounding yourself with the right people, of daring to speak up and reach out. About accepting the help that's given to you, even if you may think you can do without at that moment. He finished his story, but the usual slideshow, the one of Mitch laughing, posing, pecking Scott's shoulder, of them having fun, wasn't playing in the background. He liked to show it to show people that even if someone (like Mitch) appeared happy, they might not always be. Because if they were, they wouldn't kill themselves. He also liked to show it to show people that even if you may feel like shit a lot of the time, there were good times, things to enjoy in life, and that it was important to look for those moments, to seek them out and to appreciate them.

But today, he couldn't. And when he played his last song before leaving the stage, he quit early, afraid that the tears and heavy feeling in his chest would get his voice to give out, he didn't want to disappoint a roughly estimated thousand students by breaking down.

He also, simply, preferred to break down in someone's arms or when he could lie down or curl himself into a small ball. And that's what he did. He muttered another apology, and stepped off the stage, tears running down his face.

He clutched at Kirstie's sweater, let out sobs while she combed through his hair, and curled his legs underneath him. He cried, because he missed Mitch. It had been years, but he _missed Mitch so fucking much._ At any other place, he could keep himself together for the most part, but not here. Not at their old high school, where pretty much all his memories includes Mitch. Not here, where he could see Mitch walk through the doors of the small room he was in, if only he closed his eyes.

Life wasn't fair, never had been, but still. He just wanted to go back in time and run away with Mitch to a safer place. It would change the course of his future. He was sure that if Mitch and him had ran away, he wouldn't be playing sold out tours with all profit going to organisations like the Trevor Project, he wouldn't be hosting talks and speeches and winning awards for both his activism and his music. He was sure that if he had ran away with Mitch, he wouldn't be as "successful", as he was now, but he would have been happier.

Sure, he wasn't depressed, he was happy to be making music all the time and to be helping teens everywhere in the country. He wasn't lonely, he had a plethora of friends, he had _Kirstie,_ he had a wealthy lifestyle and a nice apartment. He even had a sphinx cat, if only because Mitch had always wanted one. He was blessed to do the job he did, but there was always something missing.

He didn't date, didn't hook up, had never even consciously made out with someone and thoroughly enjoyed if. He didn't have someone to cuddle up with on lonesome winter nights, didn't have someone to wrap his arms around in bed when they'd been up too late talking. And he didn't want someone lie that, wasn't looking for someone. Heck, the last time he had kissed someone he cried after that, apologising over and over again to the guy. But the guy hadn't been Mitch. No one was Mitch.

Because in the end, Mitch was all that mattered. Scott may be the sun lighting up other people's life, but Mitch was the earth, the sun's biggest purpose in existence. And that existence, that huge part in the sun's life, had been wiped, gone.  
  
  


 


End file.
